


5 times iwaizumi can’t make oikawa smile and one time he does

by matsinko



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 04:57:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11200908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matsinko/pseuds/matsinko
Summary: Oikawa’s smile is beautiful when it’s genuine. It’s more uncertain than his 24-karat of white teeth that he shows his countless of fangirls and the curious news reporters who started flocking around him since he made starter in the second half of his first year of high school. When it’s genuine, his eyes smile too, his cheeks dimple and he looks radiant; Iwaizumi always felt the need to look away. Look way before he falls in a hole so deep he can’t get back up.(or alternatively: 5 times Iwaizumi doesn’t have his shit together and one time he does)





	5 times iwaizumi can’t make oikawa smile and one time he does

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mattsunflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattsunflower/gifts).



> for beca <3
> 
> i hope i did your prompt justice and i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it.

**1.**

Oikawa’s smile is beautiful when it’s genuine. It’s more uncertain than his 24-karat of white teeth that he shows his countless of fangirls and the curious news reporters who started flocking around him since he made starter in the second half of his first year of high school. When it’s genuine, his eyes smile too, his cheeks dimple and he looks radiant; Iwaizumi always felt the need to look away. Look way before he falls in a hole so deep he can’t get back up.

Oikawa isn’t smiling at him right not, hasn’t smiled at him in that genuine pretty way in more weeks Iwaizumi can’t count.

Oikawa is frowning, his lips are pressed shut, pulled downwards, and there is a little crease between his eyebrows. He seems tense, every muscle on his body pulled tight like a spring. Iwaizumi stopped asking after the fifth or sixth Oikawa avoided answering.

Fukuhara clicks his tongue, “Earth to Iwaizumi!”

Iwaizumi’s attention snaps back to the girl in front of him. She’s leaning way into his personal space across his desk with curious eyes peeking from behind her bangs. “I lost you there for a second.” She smiles easily, prettily, and pushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

Fukuhara sits at the desk right in front of Iwaizumi. She’s friendly and carefree and the moment they’ve discovered their mutual love of action movies and ancient seinen manga, they’ve fallen into an easy, breezy friendship.

And somehow, the more she smiled, the more Oikawa frowned.

 

**2.**

The locker room is buzzing with post-practice energy. It smells like sweat and deodorant, familiar and somehow not unpleasant. Too many years spent in locker rooms with guys, Iwaizumi figures.

Hanamaki slaps Matsukawa with a towel across his bottom, Yuda wolf-whistles, and Matsukawa makes a lewd comment, accompanied by his signature smirk. The way he makes his voice low and mock-flirtatious just to fuck with Hanamaki never fails to make him cringe.

He laughs despite himself at their silliness. Yet he feels oddly hollow as his laughter dies in his throat. Because he cannot hear the loudest of voices, the silliest of jabs, the brightest of laughs.

Oikawa is changing at the end of the room, away from the third years. He’s quiet, too quiet, almost invisible. He pulls his sweaty jersey over his head and Iwaizumi’s eyes follow the strong taunt of his back muscles as he works a clean shirt back on. He seems tense and Iwaizumi wants to kick his ass until he talks but he feels weirdly reserved about it.

He isn’t used to talk to Oikawa who doesn’t want to talk.

So he turns around and quietly finishes changing, trying to stuff the worry that nags at him deep down.

 

**3.**

They all squeeze into a tiny booth of their favourite shabu-shabu shop, a cheap old thing just 15 minutes away from their school. Iwaizumi is squeezed between Fukuhara and Matsukawa on a seat for two while Hanamaki and Yuda share the opposite one. Sawauchi drags a chair from god knows where while talking on the phone that he has squeezed between his ear and shoulder. Probably Shido, Iwaizumi thinks, the other second string 3rd year.

Shido often skips those outings because of his strict parents and the others never fail to give him shit about it.

Fukuhara keeps adding beef and vegetables to the hot pot, not bothering to cook the meat first, until it’s basically overflowing with ingredients. Matsukawa and Hanamaki seem to be having some kind of an under-the-table kicking contest, which Iwaizumi feels first hand when Hanamaki manages to kick him instead of Matsukawa.

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi curses with a flinch and Matsukawa laughs at him, then mocks Hanamaki for being a douche to their vice-captain.

Hanamaki rolls his eyes with a snort. “He’s a resilient motherf—”

“ _Jesus_ , Hanamaki, you have such a filthy mouth,” Fukuhara squawks loudly, cutting him in, and pushes forward to slap him across his head.

“Iwaizumi, put a leash on your girlfriend,” Hanamaki mumbles sullenly and holds his forehead where she slapped him with mock-hurt. Iwaizumi swears the guy’s gonna start crying if it makes his acting game stronger.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Iwaizumi says, “and you deserved it.”

Fukuhara raises both of her eyebrows in the perfect _I told you_ so facial expression then she checks the meat, deems it a good colour for eating, grabs some with the longer table chopsticks and transfers it into her ponzu sauce.

Iwaizumi goes for the tofu first, gathering a bunch of pieces on his own dish.

“You need to let it cook and soak the juices from the meat,” Fukuhara scolds him before she puts the well-pinked slice of beef in her mouth and chews thoroughly.

Hanamaki snorts. “He always does that. Only Oikawa manages to—,” his voice trails off and he scans the table. “Where’s the fuck’s Cap’?”

All people on the table, including Fukuhara, turn to stare at Iwaizumi.

A couple of seconds of silence stretch uncomfortably between them before Hanamaki breaks them, “Call him, you dick!”

“Why me?”

Hanamaki’s eyes gives him a look that would have been _are you fucking kidding me_ , if Yuda didn’t actually say it out loud.

“ _Today_ , Iwaizumi,” Matsukawa says from his left.

He takes out his phone and dials Oikawa gingerly, a selfie Oikawa himself he took and set as his contact photo flashing briefly before Iwaizumi lifts the phone to his ear.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Oikawa doesn’t pick up.

“You guys fighting?” Yuda asks over a mouthful of meat. Iwaizumi is a pro with deciphering what Yuda is saying with his mouth full now. He had some years of experience down the line.

“No,” Iwaizumi answers but he isn’t really sure. Are they? Did he do something wrong? Because Oikawa _is_ avoiding them and he can’t continue denying it.

Oikawa loves shabu-shabu. He loves adding extra noodles when the vegetables are cooked thoroughly and eating them along with a full, rich soup. He has always been patient like that, waiting until the very end to eat. _It’s because I have a refined taste, Iwa-chan, something you wouldn’t understand_ , he’d say and wait.

Oikawa keeps Iwaizumi from eating all the tofu before it’s cooked and makes sure everyone else have a share of it too. He always sits next to Iwaizumi and his hair always gets in the way. Iwaizumi likes brushing his bangs back under a murmur of _idiot, you’ll go blind_ that has no bite to it.

His fingers curl around his chopsticks until his knuckles go white. There’s this distinctive tightness of his chest again, a pang of pain, a feeling he’s growing to associate with missing Oikawa. It’s coils inside his body, tight and unpleasant.

And the thing is - no one even questions him, as if he’s some kind of an _Oikawa expert_ . No one else calls. Yet Iwaizumi has the sinking feeling that if someone else does, Oikawa _will_ pick up.

 

**4.**

Iwaizumi worries his lower lip between his teeth as he hits send.

 _hey, you ok?_ his text reads.

“You won’t manage any studying done if you keep worrying,” Fukuhara says from where she’s sitting cross-legged on his carpenter floor, hunched over the small wooden table. She’s working on their maths homework and Iwaizumi gets the fleeting thought of Oikawa copying his homework despite the fact he’s more than capable of doing it himself. Iwaizumi would always grumble of how undeserving Oikawa is to be in the more advanced class and Oikawa would always laugh.

Iwaizumi misses his laugh like how he’d miss sunlight if he’s in a room without windows. He never knew how much it uplifted him until it was gone. Making Oikawa laugh felt like a victory, it warmed him from the inside and never failed to make him smile.

But he’s afraid - he’s afraid to poke and dig because he isn’t sure he’s ready to acknowledge what he finds.

He startles when the door of his room is suddenly thrown open and his twin brothers barge inside with conviction.

“What did I say about knocking, you _little—_?!” Iwaizumi roars but they seem too busy looking at Fukuhara to be intimidated by their older brother.

“Huh?” Kenta says, perplexed.

“We thought Tooru’s here,” Kouji adds, or more like, _whines_ in a very childish, very disappointed manner.

“Even Oikawa wouldn’t be able to save you from some good ol’ ass-kicking,” Iwaizumi says slowly and cracks his knuckles to prove a point.

Kouji is the first one to step back, moving to glare at Iwaizumi from behind his twin brother’s back. “Where’s he?” he asks with suspicion.

“How should I know? Do I look like a seer to you?” Iwaizumi says.

Kenta gives him the stink eye. “Good for nothing older brother,” he grouses with his chin held high like the little brat he is.

Iwaizumi swears that’s all Oikawa’s doing. 

“What did you say?” he asks, voice every ounce of intimidating, which seems to finally startle the two 12-year-olds. All he needs to do next is just get up from where he’s sitting on the bed and both of them are squawking and running away, leaving the door of his room wide open.

“Kouji! Kenta! _Shut up_!” He can hear his mother yell from downstairs.

Iwaizumi shakes his head and chuckles. They’re running down the stairs and he can almost feel the echo of their steps. Two elephants in a glass shop, those two.

“Mom!” Kenta yells back, “We’re getting Tooru!”

“Careful when you cross the street,” their mother warns and next thing he hears is the front door being slammed shut.

His stomach drops. Will Oikawa actually come? He has always been weak to his brothers’ boyish charms. Oikawa loved those kids and never failed to indulge them.

“They seem to love him,” Fukuhara says good-naturedly as she twirls her pen between her fingers.

“They really do,” Iwaizumi replies simply.

He hears Oikawa’s voice carry from downstairs just a couple of minutes later and his pulse picks up instantly, like his heart is attuned to Oikawa’s presence.

He gets up without thinking and heads for downstairs.

“Kenta, Tooru isn’t a horse!” He can hear his mother’s fond but strict voice, “Stop trying to make him piggyback you!”

“It’s okay, Auntie, I promised the little devil I will if he finishes all his homework,” Oikawa replies over a laugh.

“And I did, mom! All of it!” Kenta says enthusiastically.

“I want too! When’s my turn?!” Kouji whines loudly.

Iwaizumi walks into the living room and their eyes meet. Oikawa’s smile drops.

 

**5.**

Matsukawa and Hanamaki corner Iwaizumi after practice. They lock the changing room door behind their backs after making sure no one’s left but Iwaizumi.

“So, what’s the deal?” Hanamaki goes straight to business.

“Am I held hostage?” Iwaizumi asks instead, glancing at the locked door behind their backs. They look like some night club bouncers that take a law course part-time.

“Told you he’s gonna deflect,” Matsukawa tells Hanamaki matter-of-factly.

“I’m right here!” Iwaizumi says and crosses his arms protectively. Not that anything can protect him from Matsukawa and Hanamaki once they’re on a roll.

“Look we can do it the hard way or you can tell us what the fuck is happening with you and Oikawa?”

Iwaizumi sighs. It was only a matter of time until they notice. They’re their closest friends.

“Wait,” Iwaizumi tries to avert again, “what’s _the hard way_?”

“Yeah, ‘Hiro, what’s _the hard way_?” Matsukawa snickers.

Hanamaki kicks him, “Focus!” Then he turns to Iwaizumi. “The hard way is me kicking you damn ass, then becoming the ace in your place, you shit. Now spill. Why are you avoiding him?”

“He’s avoiding _me!_ ” Iwaizumi says, defensively.

“We all love Fukuhara-chan, but we’re also not blind. She fills up that Oikawa spot fine for you, huh?” Hanamaki shakes his head in this wise-men-in-movies way.

“We never took you for the guy that ditches their best friend when he gets a girlfriend,” Matsukawa adds. Devil’s advocate, this guy. Iwaizumi wonders if it’s the universe doing God’s work or whatever bringing those two together.

Iwaizumi feels annoyance settle under his skin, hot and thick. “She _isn’t_ my girlfriend. And I haven’t ditched him!”

“You kinda stopped hanging with him for lunch,” Matsukawa points out.

“And you started doing your disgusting study groups only with Fukuhara-chan,” Hanamaki adds.

“She actually _does_ work!”

“Uh-huh,” Hanamaki says with raised eyebrows. “And what’s your excuse of not sitting next to him on the team bus?”

Matsukawa pretends he’s wiping tears, “We thought the world was ending when you sat next to Kyoutani.”

“I wanted to talk to him about his off-speed spike!”

Hanamaki ignores him. “Is it because we take photos of you two cuddling?”

Iwaizumi’s blood rushes to his face. “We are not—”

“You’re avoiding him, Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki cuts in, “You stopped leaving space for him where he always belonged. That’s why he stopped tagging along” His light-brown eyes study Iwaizumi for a second, searching, then he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “You haven’t figured it out really, have you?” Hanamaki’s voice comes mellow, carrying a certain degree of careful tenderness he isn’t used to hearing from him.

Iwaizumi’s throat goes dry. Has he done all this? Was he so afraid of letting Oikawa in that he shut him out completely?

Iwaizumi feels like an overstuffed box, sealed with old, faded tape. And Oikawa is so good at picking up the edges, at peeling off the tape. He has been doing this for years — peeling — leaving just one stripe of yellowed, old tape. And Iwaizumi’s afraid, he’s so afraid that when the last piece comes off, everything is going to start overflowing; everything he has carefully stored away, out for everyone to see. For Oikawa to see.

His eyes burn, the pain of suppressing his emotions overwhelming him.

“Jesus Christ, Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki says softly, carefully. He nods to Matsukawa who unlocks the door. They leave him alone with his thoughts.

This night he dreams of middle school Oikawa with his big heart and big dreams. They’re sitting in Oikawa’s backyard trying to count all the stars in the sky, as if that’s possible.

“I love the stars!” Oikawa says with his big, stupid grin and wide, chocolate-coloured eyes. Iwaizumi hums back, warmth spreading down his chest.

No one talks for a while which makes Iwaizumi nervous, antsy. He shivers, telling himself it’s because of the chilly night and not the unusual silence. He hates when Oikawa is being quiet.

“But you know what I love more, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa’s voice is a mere whisper, that carries with the night wind.

Iwaizumi thinks he can capture it in a little jar, like it’s a firefly. It’s a stupid thought.

“What?” He croaks. He doesn’t want to know—is afraid to know.

“You.”

Iwaizumi startles awake, shaking and drenched in sweat.

This isn’t just a dream, he thinks as he rubs his face with a groan. It’s a memory.

 

**+1.**

Iwaizumi’s palms are already sweaty when he knocks on Oikawa’s door.

“Hey, it’s me,” he says, “can I come in?”

“No,” is the reply he gets before he presses on the handle, opens the door, and walks in.

Oikawa is half sitting, half laying on the bed, his hair pulled back with an obnoxiously colourful headband, his glasses perched low on his pointy nose. He’s wearing an old, ratty t-shirt with a muddy-green alien stamped at the front and faded maroon shorts. He looks endearing, Iwaizumi thinks, so painfully endearing.

Iwaizumi’s stomach clenches and his heartbeat goes louder and annoying in his ears. He was so stupid, for so long, that everything he planned to tell Oikawa suddenly feels small and insignificant; like whatever comes out of his mouth isn’t going to be enough.

Oikawa raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t speak. He closes the book he was reading and puts his aside, his eyes never leaving Iwaizumi as he does. He doesn’t look mad or upset, he looks guarded, which, Iwaizumi concludes, is worse, because he isn’t being trusted.

“I’m so stupid,” Iwaizumi says, deflating, “and I am so sorry.”

Oikawa’s still looking at him without speaking, eyes intense and calculating and Iwaizumi can’t look away. It’s been so long since Oikawa looked at him, _properly_ looked at him, giving his undivided attention, that he feels weak under his gaze, his knees going soft and wobbly.

“Look,” Iwaizumi croaks and moves to sit at the edge of the bed, the closest he can manage without actually combusting, “I got scared.” He lets the words sit for a while before he continues. “You’ve always been so certain about what you want, so unapologetic in— _wanting_. God, Oikawa, when you want things, you just go for them and I—,” he waves his hands when his throat clamp up around his words.

His eyes sting. Jesus, he’s pathetic. He should have kept the box shut yet here he is, standing by the person who peeled off all the tape, bit by bit.

He presses on. “I thought if maybe I didn’t acknowledge your feelings, they’d not be true and I—I hurt you and—,” he takes a sharp breath. “Fuck—I want to play volleyball with you. I want to talk to you in the locker room after a game and I want to walk home with you. I want to laugh with you during lunch break and I want to study with you, even though you copy my math homework all the damn time.” Oikawa laughs at that—his beautiful, beautiful laughter—and Iwazumi takes the chance to inch closer and take Oikawa’s palm in his. “Who’s going to distribute all the tofu equally when you’re not there, you idiot?”

“Isn’t that good?” Oikawa murmurs, “You get all of it.”

“Fuck the tofu,” Iwaizumi says, “I—,” his voice cracks and he takes a deep, stuttering breath, “I want _you_.”

“You do?” It’s almost a whisper, small, uncertain and it makes Iwaizumi ache.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Oikawa—I want to count all the stars in the sky with you.”

Iwaizumi palm is sweaty above Oikawa’s and his heart is trying to beat right off his chest.

“Iwa-chan—,” Oikawa’s voice voice catches and he sniffs.

“Don’t cry,” Iwaizumi says and his own voice cracks and wobbles.

“Hypocrite,” Oikawa says back then smiles and all of Iwaizumi’s whole world narrows to this exact moment, to Oikawa’s beautiful, earnest smile, to his painfully endearing dimples, to the way his eyes shine and his heart fills with love to the brim, helplessly so.

And as he falls forward, taking Oikawa in his arms, it all fits together, it all makes sense. “I’ll let you peel off the last piece of tape,” he says.

“Huh?” Oikawa asks. “Tell me, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi just laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> ([my tumblr](http://matsinko.tumblr.com))


End file.
